


that i'm skin and bones, just a king on a rusty throne

by lucifucker



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic 2.0, author is stellar at tagging, brallon4life, not ryden, panic 1.0, sad stuff, some small amounts of sex happen, trust me i do not do the ryden thing, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:44:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifucker/pseuds/lucifucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's not Ryan." He informs Brendon matter-of-fact-ly, and Brendon opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off. "He loves you. And he cares about you. And he's not going to hurt you." Spencer shakes his head, standing up, slowly, and heading toward the back of the bus. "He's not Ryan."</p><p>or</p><p>brendon gets hurt, and dallon fixes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that i'm skin and bones, just a king on a rusty throne

  
The day Brendon Urie meets Ryan Ross the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping, and a soft summer breeze is drifting through Las Vegas, making the leaves on the tree they're sitting under flutter just slightly.  
  
Ryan's smile is small, and sweet, and Brendon wants to kiss it as soon as he sees it, but Spencers explained to him that that's not strictly socially acceptable, so he doesn't, just smiles back.  
  
Brendon doesn't see the way Spencer sees that smile, more bright and blinding than the sun. He doesn't see the look Spencer and Jon share, soft little smirks that _mean_ something.  
  
They sit under that tree in Spencers back yard until the suns gone down and there are fireflies lighting the crinkles around Ryans eyes.  
  
They hug each other goodbye when Ryan leaves, and exchange shy smiles.  
  
"Bye, Ryan!" Brendon calls out as the car pulls out of the driveway, and Ryan sticks his head out of the widow and waves.  
  
"Bye Brandon!"  
  
It takes a full minute for Brendon to figure out why Spencer is laughing so hard.  
  
-0-  
  
The first time Brendon Urie sees Dallon Weekes, he's standing in front of around ninety people with a ratty old ukulele, singing the same way most people cry, rough and pained and harsh and he's the most gorgeous thing Brendons ever seen.  
  
He sways with the music and furrows his eyebrows and it makes Brendon want to hold him down and fuck him until he puts that voice to better use, but Spencer keeps telling him he needs to make connections with people, and the last time they'd seen each other Spencer had this look in his eyes that was somehow scared and hurt and hopeful all at once, and Brendon is really trying not to let him down.  
  
So instead of stalking toward him after the show and pushing him into a dark room and licking across the pulse point that's sticking out on his neck like he wants, _aches_ to do, he smiles his most formulated smile and shakes his hand.  
  
"I'm Brendon." He says, smooth as silk. The guy laughs a little breathlessly, wiping sweat off his forehead and neck that Brendon wants to taste.  
"Dallon." He gasps, eyes wide on post-show fumes, and Brendon reaches out a hand, which Dallon takes, and wow, yeah, he has big hands.  
"That was...really fuckin' good, man." Dallon is almost a foot taller than Brendon, but somehow Brendon doesn't feel threatened. "Really raw."  
  
The grin doesn't dissipate, and Dallons free hand comes up to grasp Brendons shoulder.  
  
"I'm glad you liked it." His hair is plastered to his temples and he looks almost manic, but his eyes are so wide, and so sincere, that Brendon honestly believes it.  
  
Someone shouts something, and Dallons head jerks up. Brendon let's go of his hand.  
  
"I gotta go." The smile is slipping, just a little around the edges, but hes still so full of energy it makes Brendon ache. "But it was really great to meet you, Brendon."  
  
He doesn't even register until after Dallons gone that he remembered his name.

  


-0-

  


“I don't know if I can do this.”

  


“Come on, Bren, you're gonna be fine.”

  


“Ryan, she's gonna give me a lap dance.” Brendon says desperately, eyes wide, and Ryan smiles, fondly, and smooths down his lapels. There are people bustling, everywhere, makeup artists and set designers in every direction, and it makes Brendons head spin.

  


“And it's gonna be great.” He assures him, resting both hands on Brendons chest, and leaning up, his lips so close to Brendon's ear that he can feel his breath. “Trust me?”

  


Brendon takes a deep breath, and does.

  


-0-

  


He is seventeen, and everything is perfect.

  


He is seventeen and Brent keeps shoving coke cans down the back of his jeans when he's not paying attention.

  


He is seventeen, and the sun is shining on Spencer's face, and his smile is bright.

  


He is seventeen, and Ryan is sitting on his shoulders and parading him around like a 'prized stallion'.

  


He is seventeen and this feels _right._

  


-0-

  


It's warm Vegas sunday, and Dallons feet are in Brendons lap while he sips his beer. Brendon looks over at him, at the sun, where it's shining through his hair, and goes for it.

  


“Hey, so. Panic! needs a bassist.” Dallon looks at him, evenly, and raises an eyebrow.

  


“You propositioning me, Urie?” Brendon laughs, not the fake laugh, the real one, and stops himself, tilts his head from side to side.

  


“Dunno. That depends on what the answer's gonna be.” Dallon pokes him in the rib with his toe, and Brendon smirks a practiced smirk. Brendon doesn't really smile. Brendon won't.

  


“Guess I'd better say yes, then.” Dallon murmurs into his bottle, and Brendon's heart skips a beat.

  


“Yeah.” He manages. “Guess you'd better.” Dallon's quiet for a minute, and then he looks up, and grins, wide and sure.

  


“Call Spencer and tell him you have a bassist.”

  


Brendon could hug him, but doesn't.

  


  


-0-

  


“Brendon, we can't put this on the album.”

  


“Why not?”

  


“Because it's—it's too...devoted.”

  


Brendon stares at Ryan, and Ryan stares at Brendon, and Spencer stares at his drums, and Brent isn't there.

  


“What are you talking about?”

  


“ _When the world gets too heavy, put it on my back, I'll be your levy.”_ Ryan quotes, and Brendon shakes his head.

  


“And?” Ryan rolls his eyes, and gives Brendon a disparaging look, and Brendon's heart sinks a little bit.

  


“Come on, Bren, you can't make promises like that in songs. It's overdone, and ridiculous. And no-one ever comes through with that bullshit, anyway, what's the point?” Ryan shrugs. “Plus, we've already got Nine In The Afternoon on there, it's not really good to have two kinda love songs on one album.”

  


Brendon doesn't say that he doesn't think it's ridiculous, or overdone. Brendon doesn't say that Ryan's being a judgmental asshole. Brendon doesn't say that he'd come through like that for Ryan.

  


Brendon shrugs, and goes back to strumming.

  


“Whatever, dude. Let's try the chorus for the one with the french name, again.”

  


  


-0-

  


Pete asks him what he's got, and he realizes there isn't much, but he digs through some old notebooks, and finds a few things, does a few demos and sends them to Pete at five AM, doesn't expect much.

  


He gets a call an hour later, from Pete, with a soft guitar part drifting through the phone.

  


“B, this is good. This is really fucking good.” _It was always you, falling for me._

  


“You think so?” _Now there's always time, calling for me._

  


“I know so.” _I'm the light, blinking at the end of the road._ “Needs a name, though.”

  


“Any ideas?” He can hear Pete's grin.

  


“Always.”

  


  


  


-0-

  


The crowd are _screaming,_ and it's hot as fuck in this concert hall, but Brendon has never been happier in his life. He looks over, and Ryan is grinning, his hands sliding over the guitar with practiced smoothness. Brendon laughs, and walks over to him, drags him forward so he can press their foreheads together.

  


Ryan's smile disappears, and he jerks away, fumbling a note and then playing harder, and Brendon blinks, but goes back to singing.

  


Later, when he sits next to Ryan after the show, with their arms pressed together, Ryan lays his head on Brendon's shoulder, and Brendon grins.

  


-0-

  


He is nineteen, and everything is _better._

  


He is nineteen, and Jon wraps an arm around his shoulder and laughs too loudly at his jokes and Brendon loves him like a brother.

  


He is nineteen and Spencer has never looked this happy.

  


He is nineteen and Ryan is smiling around a joint, strumming his guitar, and the little puffs of smoke that come out of his mouth make the sunset look gauzed, like an old movie.

  


He is nineteen and it feels like home.

  


  


  


  


-0-

  


  


They're done with practice for the day, and they should be leaving, but when Brendon glances into the studio, Dallon's still fucking around with one of the acoustics.

  


He pushes the intercom button with every intention of scaring the shit out of him, but stops because Dallon's fingerpicking, and singing softly under his breath, so enraptured with what he's doing that he doesn't even register Brendon on the other side of the glass, but that's not what makes Brendon pause.

  


No it's _what_ Dallon's singing.

  


“ _I'm a fly that's trapped, in a web but I'm thinking that, my spider's dead.”_

  


Brendon stares, and listens, wide-eyed and stiff, as Dallons fingers shift on the guitar, every note seamless in a way bassist usually can't pull off.

  


“ _Lonely, lonely little life, I could kid myself in thinking that I'm fine.”_

  


And yeah, he knew _Always_ was one Dallon had said he'd liked, but hearing him sing it is different. Dallon's voice slides over every syllable like it's meant to be there, and his eyes are closed, his face drawn, like every word holds a weight to him that Brendon can't even fathom.

  


“Dallon.” He blurts out, and Dallon jumps, and looks up, startled out of his reverie.

  


“Yeah?”

  


“Time to go, man.” Brendon jerks his head toward the door. “Ian and Spencer left already, they're waiting for us.”

  


Dallon nods, and hangs the guitar up on its hook, makes his way toward the door around all the shit they left on the floor, and Brendon meets him on the other side.

  


“You–uh–you sounded good.” Dallon grins at him, and Brendon wants to kiss him.

  


“Yeah, well...those _lyrics,_ man. That's some shit I can get behind.” Brendon raises his eyebrows.

  


“Really?”

  


“Hell yeah, man. That's, like, the best kind of old fashioned love song. It's awesome.” Dallon throws an arm around Brendon's shoulders. “Really fucking relatable shit. The kids are gonna love it.”

  


Brendon ducks his head and lets Dallon lead him out of the house and doesn't think about the warmth he feels at every point of contact between them.

  


-0-

  


“Brendon, you _have_ to pay more attention that line.” Ryan snaps, and Brendon looks up from his guitar, confused.

  


“What?” Ryan sighs, long-suffering, and shakes his head.

  


“ _I know the world's a broken bone,”_ He half-sings, twirling his finger around like he's conducting. “ _But count your headaches, call it home.”_ He finishes, and lets his hands fall, stares at Brendon expectantly. Brendon shakes his head.

  


“Am I not hitting the notes?” Ryan groans.

  


“No, you're hitting the notes fine, Bren, but you're not saying what you need to say.” He runs a hand through his hair, and picks up the guitar. “You've got to sing it like you mean it.”

  


Brendon blinks, and looks down.

  


“But—Ry, I _don't_ believe it.” He says simply, and Ryan sighs.

  


“Brendon, come on.” His voice is dripping with distain, and it makes Brendons chest clench.

  


“No, Ryan, I don't.” Spencer's looking at him with something bordering on confusion, and Jon is nodding in agreement. “The world's full of hope, and yeah, maybe its a little bent right now, but it's not going to be like this forever.” Ryan opens his mouth to speak, and Brendon cuts him off. “It's not all bad, Ryan.”

  


Ryan rolls his eyes, and lets out a short, harsh laugh.

  


“You can't seriously think that.” He spits, and Brendon swallows, thickly, because he's never heard Ryan talk like this before. “Brendon, the world is not all lollipops and fucking sunshine, okay?”

  


Brendon sets his jaw, and shakes his head again.

  


“Ry, come on, I'm not saying that, I'm just saying everything's not as terrible as you think it is--”

  


“What, and you'd fucking know?” Ryan cuts him off, sharply, and raises an eyebrow. “You don't know shit about the world, Brendon, and until you do, stop trying to tell everyone how fucking great it is.”

  


Ryan sits back in his chair, and shakes his head, and goes back to his guitar, and Brendon's mouth stay firmly shut.

  


He sings the line again, lets the pain pour into his voice and Ryan grins, and claps him on the back when he's done.

  


It feels wrong.

  


  


-0-

  


His shirt is hanging wide open, fully unbuttoned, and he's so sweaty his skin is slick with it, and he's never felt this alive. Except for maybe the last show. Or the one before that. Or the one before that.

  


Brendon looks over and Dallon's taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and he's not smiling, but his mouth is open, and he's playing with his eyes shut, like he's communing with the fucking gods or something, and he's so fucking hot, and thank god Brendon's jeans are so tight that Little B couldn't be seen if he tried.

  


Dallon's eyes flick open, and meet Brendon's, and he closes his mouth and strides over, comes up behind Brendon and presses his face into his shoulder, and Brendon leans back and reaches one hand up, curling his fingers tight in the hair at the back of Dallon's head.

  


He holds the mic up between them and they belt the last note together, and Brendon acts on instinct, turns around and wraps his arms around Dallon and hugs him tight, and Dallon does the same, slides an arm around Brendon's shoulders, and pulls him close, and Brendon can't stop laughing, his body feels light, and his heart is pounding, and he's full of something he doesn't really understand, but he knows he fucking loves it.

  


Dallon's hand is a steady, grounding force on the back of his head and he kisses Brendon's forehead while Brendon laughs, and laughs.

  


  


-0-

  


  


“I hate every song on guitar hero.” Ryan says with finality, and Brendon blinks, because two weeks ago they played Don't Stop Believing and Ryan sang.

  


“That's weird, cause we covered a song on Guitar Hero.” He interrupts, and Ryan looks at him and perfectly meets his eyes when he says;

“Hate it.” And there's something Brendon doesn't understand in his expression, but he grins anyway, and shakes his head, chuckles softly.

  


“Liar.” He jokes, and Ryan doesn't say anything, looks down, and there's a beat of silence where no one laughs, and no one speaks, and nothing happens.

  


And then Jon says something, and Spencer says something back, and the interviewer laughs, nervously, and Brendon leans a little closer.

  


“I'm just kidding.” He says, trying to keep his voice light, and Ryan turns his head away a little. Brendon reaches out, and rests his hand on the back of Ryan's neck, rubs his thumb over his pulse point, and shakes his head, more serious now. “Hey, no, I'm kidding. I'm just kidding.”

  


Ryan shifts farther away from him, and shrugs his hand off, and Brendon lets it fall into his lap, and hates himself.

  


The interview goes on normally after that, but Ryan doesn't touch him, and Brendon's smile hurts.

  


-0-

  


“You're a genius.”

  


“Sure am, Dal.”

  


“No. No, B, you're a _genius.”_ Dallon's arm is thrown over Brendon's shoulders, and his breath smells like gin and lemons. Brendon doesn't love him. Brendon _can't_.

  


“You think so?” He grunts, holding the taller man up with one arm while he tries to get the key into his door. Dallon nods, fervently, and grabs Brendon's wrist, stills him, leans one shoulder on the door so he can turn Brendon to face him, and Brendon, for some reason, lets him.

  


“Brendon.” Dallon says, and he's got that fucking look on his face, the one he gets when he really fucking believes in something and Brendon hates how it fills his stomach with warmth. “Brendon, you're _amazing._ ”

  


And he didn't notice Dallon had his face in his hands until he does, until their faces are inches apart and he can feel Dallon's gin-stink breath on his mouth, and he knows he shouldn't, because Dallon's drunk, and Brendon's, as Spencer loves to put it, 'as emotionally constipated as Attilla the Hun', but he's been stopping himself for so long, and Dallon is _right there_ , and he _wants._

  


And apparently Dallon does, too, because he tilts his head and kisses Brendon, first, slow and soft and a little sloppy and fucking _perfect,_ and Brendon doesn't know this, doesn't know how to be gentle and sweet, doesn't remember how not to bite and tug and pull, but Dallon's lips are tender on his and Dallon's fingers are tracing over the sides of his neck, and Brendon sinks into it, into _him._

  


He pulls back after a minute, shakes his head, and he doesn't know when his hands ended up clenched in the front of Dallon's shirt like he's afraid to let go, but he does, and quickly.

  


“I can't.” He rasps, and Dallon's face stays set, the way it was the first time Brendon saw him sing.

  


“Why not?”

  


Brendon tries to think, he really does, he tries to find a reason, but Dallons fingers slide up into his hair, and he's pulling Brendon back in, and Brendon's not good enough of a person to say no.

  


He wakes up the next morning with Dallons arm around his waist and slides out of bed without a word.

  


-0-

  


  
They've been fighting, again, shouting at the top of their lungs about the new album, and Brendon hates this, hates the way Ryan looks at him like he's an idiot and hates the way Jon and Spence go so quiet it's like they're not even there, and the way his stomach churns so hard it fucking _hurts_.  
  
He storms out of the studio, tears streaking down his cheeks and curls up in a ball outside, and tries as hard as he can not to scream.  
  
There's the faint sound of Ryan saying 'Jon!', and then a door slams, and Jon follows him out, settling down next to him on the pavement.  
  
They're quiet for a long time, with Jon's arm pressed against Brendons shoulder, warmth seeping into him through two layers of t-shirt in spite of the Vegas December winds. Brendon shifts, eventually, rests his head on Jons shoulder, and Jon wraps his arm around him, pulling him close.  
  
"He's trying." Jon says, and Brendon exhales, slowly, and nods.  
  
"I know." He mumbles, and Jon squeezes, gently. Brendon closes his eyes, and sniffs. "I'm gonna go apologize." Jons fingers curl around his arm for a second and then he lets go. Brendon stands, slowly, and looks down at him. "You coming in?"  
  
Jon shakes his head.  
"I need the air."  
  
-0-  
  
Dallons fingers skim over his arms, and Brendon curls closer to him on the couch, glaring at Spencer when he makes little hearts in the air with his fingers.  
  
"Shut up." He mutters, and Spencer laughs. The fingers slide up and into his hair, stroking gently through it.  
  
"You're whipped, B." Spence chuckles, and Brendon huffs out something that resembles a laugh, but he feels his chest constrict with a kind of anxiety he hasn't felt in a long time.  
  
"You've gotta be into someone to be whipped." his voice is flat, and dull, and the words are out before he can stop them.  
  
Dallons fingers freeze in his hair, and Spencer blinks once, twice, and then flicks his eyes up toward Dallons face, having some wordless conversation with him that Brendon couldn't understand if he tried.  
  
"I'm supposed to call Amelie." Dallon says, speaking for the first time since they sat down, and shifts out from under Brendon, carefully laying his weight on the pillows as he goes, but it's more mechanical than caring, and Brendons throat clenches.  
  
He leaves without saying anything else, and as soon as the front door of the bus closes, Spencer exhales slowly, and sits back in his seat, staring Brendon down with the kind of expression only best friends use, even, and vindictive, and knowing in a way that makes Brendon's stomach sink.  
  
"He doesn't deserve this." He says evenly, and Brendon turns his face into the pillow and shakes his head.  
  
"I know." He groans, and Spencer crosses his arms over his chest, clearly unwilling to let it go so quickly.  
  
"He's not Ryan." He informs Brendon matter-of-fact-ly, and Brendon opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off. "He loves you. And he cares about you. And he's not going to hurt you." Spencer shakes his head, standing up, slowly, and heading toward the back of the bus. "He's not Ryan."  
  
Brendon squeezes his eyes shut, and curls around the pillow, and wishes he didn't wish it was Dallon.  
  
-0-  
  
"You can't just keep thinking that you can hug everything better and it'll be okay!"  
  
Brendon stares at Ryan, eyes wide, and shakes his head, trying in vain to step closer while Ryan backs away.  
  
"Ry, I'm sorry, I didn't--"  
  
"Stop that." He bites his lip, and shakes his head.  
  
"Stop _what_?"  
  
"Stop fucking apologizing!" Ryan spits, and Brendon opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off again. "Stop looking at me with your fucking doe eyes and pretending you care about whether or not I'm okay!"  
  
"Ryan--"  
  
"Jesus, Brendon, will you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?"  
  
It's a step farther than they've gone before, and Brendon can feel tears pricking at his eyes, but Ryan doesn't stop.  
  
"Stop pretending you want us to be okay! All you care about is finishing this album, and making sure I'm not mad at you, because god fucking forbid anyone think less of Brendon Fucking Urie, right?"  
  
He wants to say, wants to scream, that that's not it, that he wants to help, beg for him to just _please, Ryan, stop it, let me in,_ but his throat is full of something that resembles sobs and his head aches and he can't get the words out for the life of him.  
  
"Christ, Brendon, you're just as much an asshole as the rest of us, okay?" Ryans voice is hard, and scathing, and finite, and it makes every fibre of Brendons being hurt. “ _God,_ I am so fucking sick of pretending that you don't piss me the fuck off every time you open your fucking mouth.”  
  
There's a beat of silence where Ryan stares at him, as though he's waiting, for what, Brendon doesn't know, and then shakes his head, and turns on his heel, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Brendon stands very still for a very long time.  
  
-0-  
  
"Hey." Brendon murmurs, and rests his chin on Dallons shoulder where he's sitting in his bunk, hunched over some book with one knee drawn up to his chest. Dallon doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate, reaches back without looking up from his book and hooks his hand around Brendons knee, dragging him closer until Brendons legs open and he can lean back into his lap. The book falls to the side, forgotten, and Dallon leans back, cushioning his head on Brendons chest.  
  
They're quiet for a long time, while Brendon tries to figure out what to say, and Dallon, as usual, patiently waits for him.  
  
"I didn't." Brendon clamps his mouth shut, and Dallons fingers stroke down his cheek, gentle, and soft, and fucking perfect, and fuck, fuck, fuck, he doesn't want to fuck this up. "I didn't mean it like that."  
  
Dallon nods, slowly, and shifts, turning over and pushing Brendon down onto his back. He goes without a fight, because really, it's second nature to let Dallon press him into the bed with his weight, slot himself between Brendons legs and lean over him with his elbows at either side of his head.  
  
Dallons got the greyest eyes Brendons ever seen and his hair has flopped down over his forehead. He's beautiful, and Brendon itches to say it, but he can't. He just can't.  
  
Instead, he pushes up and catches Dallons lips with his own, presses the tips of his fingers into the divots between Dallons ribs through his t-shirt and kisses over his cheek, down his neck, toward his collarbone.  
  
Dallon let's him, raises both arms above his head when Brendon tugs at his shirt, and rasps out soft little gasping breaths when Brendons teeth scrape over his skin.  
  
Brendons heart beats so hard it feels like it might rattle out of his chest, and the words twist and turn on his tongue as he sucks a mark into Dallons shoulder, but he clenches his jaw, and presses closer, and works his way down Dallons chest, like if he pretends enough he won't have fallen in love with another beautiful brunette with stars in his eyes.  
  
The next morning, Brendon wakes up with Dallons bare chest pressed against his back, and Dallons arm thrown around his waist, and ignores the instinct to slide away, links their fingers together, instead, and goes back to sleep  
  
  
-0-

  


He is twenty one, and the world is ending.

  


He is twenty one, and Ryan is gone.

  


He is twenty one, and _Jon_ is gone.

  


He is twenty one, and Spencer doesn't smile, anymore.

  


He is twenty one, and his own smile hurts.

  


He is twenty one, and the world _is_ a broken bone.

  


-0-

  


Dallon says 'I love you' for the first time in a hotel in Minsk, when its negative six degrees outside, and they have a show in the morning. It's midnight, and Brendon's sitting astride him, sweating even though the heating leaves something to be desired, with his head thrown back and his eyes shut tight, and Dallons hands are on his hips, steadying him while he bobs up and down, a continuous rhythm that he's proud of himself for being able to keep up.

  


Brendon looks down, and Dallon is staring up at him, wide-eyed and grinning, hands sliding up over Brendon's stomach and chest to his neck so he can drag him down to kiss him, and when Brendon pulls back, Dallon opens his eyes, looks right at him, and breathes it out in one soft breath.

  


“I love you.”

  


Brendon stares at him for a split second, shocked into stillness, and then kisses him, again, harder this time, fucks himself down onto Dallon with a vengeance, every snap of his hips a brutal reminder that _he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it,_ until Dallon comes with a groan up into him, and reaches between them, brings Brendon over the edge in seconds.

  


He collapses to the side, and rolls onto his back, panting, hard, and resolutely trying to ignore the pain building in his chest.

  


A pain which is dampened when Dallon rolls onto his side, and slides an arm around Brendon's hips, dragging him close with long fingers and superior height until Brendon is close enough that he can lay his head on his chest. Brendon acts on instinct, and wraps his arms around Dallon's back, slides one hand up into his hair, and he's halfway to kissing his forehead before he _realizes_ that that was his instinct, and starts to wonder when, exactly, that happened.

  


His train of thought is cut off by Dallon shifting and pressing a kiss to his solar plexus, his fingers tightening slightly where they're wrapped around Brendon's side.

  


“I still love you.” He says simply, and Brendon swallows, hard, opens his mouth, and _tries,_ but the words don't come. Dallon pushes up on one elbow, and slides his hand up to rest it on Brendon's cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips, and then pressing down in the center of them.

  


“I know.” He whispers, and leans down, kisses Brendon's nose, and then bumps it with his own. “It's okay. I know.”

  


  


-0-

  


“They're not coming back, are they?”

  


Brendon looks at the floor where he's standing in the doorway to Spencer's room, and Spencer sighs.

  


“No, B. I don't think they are.” His voice is resigned, and a little rough around the edges, and Brendon nods, slowly, and turns to leave.

  


“You gonna be okay?” Spencer asks, and Brendon pauses, and then nods.

  


“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I'm fine.”

  


-0-

  


Brendon says; “I'm not good at this.”

  


And Dallon nods. “I know.”

  


Dallon kisses him, and it feels like sunshine, and warm summer breezes. Dallon kisses him, and it feels like home.

  


Brendon starts to pull away, starts to move back, because he's not good at having good things, but Dallons fingers close around his arms like vices, and make him stay.

  


“You're better than you think you are.” He murmurs into the space between their mouths, and Brendon surges up and kisses him again, harder, firmer, biting at Dallons lips like that will make it better, and Dallon pulls away, slides his hands up to cup Brendon's cheeks. “You are.”

  


Brendon closes his eyes and curls his fingers around Dallons collar and says nothing, but doesn't pull away.

  


It's a start.

  


-0-

  


“Hi, this is Brendon Urie, and you've reached Ryan Ross, please leave a message at the beep, and he'll get back to you when we're done having wildly hot sex. BEEEEEEEP. Just kidding.”

  


“ _Ryan, it's me. Listen, man, this is ridiculous. Call me, we can work this out...I love you.”_

  


“ _Ryan, it's Brendon. Please call me.”_

  


“ _Ryan, please.”_

  


“ _At least change your voicemail.”_

  


“The mailbox is full, and cannot accept messages at this time.”

  


'The mailbox is full, and cannot accept messages at this time.”

  


“The mailbox is full, and cannot accept messages at this time.”  
  
“The number you are trying to reach is not in service, or has been disconnected.”

  


-0-

  


  


  


  


-0-

  


“'Lo?”

  


“Dal?”

  


“B? What time is it?”

  


“Four.”

  


“PM?”

  


“No.”

  


“...Are you okay?”

  


“...............”

  


“Brendon.”

  


“No.”

  


“....come over.”

  


“I can't.”

  


“Why not?”

  


“I have...stuff.”

  


“You're an awful liar, B.”

  


“....Gimmie like ten minutes.”

  


“Okay. I love you.”

  


“Kay.”

  


-0-

  


  


  


He is twenty seven, and he stands in front of Dallons house at four thirty in the morning, with his chest clenching into knots and his hands doing much the same thing at his sides, but he rings the doorbell all the same, and looks up when it opens. _  
  
_Dallons smile is small, but adoring, and he's looking at Brendon the way he looks at Knox and Amelie. Brendons stomach does a few somersaults as he steps closer, immediately sliding his arms around his shoulders, and pulling him close. _  
  
_He presses his face into the taller mans chest and closes his eyes. _  
  
_Brendon likes to think that maybe, if Dallon smiles at him enough, he'll be worth that smile. _  
_  


Dallon slides one hand up and holds the side of Brendon's neck, tilts his head so he can kiss him, and Brendon can't help but smile into his mouth. The words slip out before he can remind himself not to let them.

  


“I love you.”

  


The whole world freezes, balanced on the words Brendon just said, balanced on Dallons hands on his face and Dallons lips, millimeters from his.

  


And then Dallons face splits into a wide grin, and Brendons whole body feels like its floating.

  


“I love you, too, B.” 

  



End file.
